


best person

by moreorles



Category: Station 19 (TV)
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 22:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18726187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreorles/pseuds/moreorles
Summary: Travis finds her in the parking lot and gets her home.  Set in the immediate aftermath of Lucas's passing.





	best person

Travis finds her in the middle of the hospital parking lot.

 

“I don’t…I don’t have my car.”

 

“I know, Vic.”

 

“I don’t know how to get home. I can’t… get home.”

 

“I know.” And he does. He remembers. Feeling like time was standing still after Michael died. He’d stayed in the room until the orderlies came to collect his body. He’d followed them silently down the hall and into the elevator. Had watched as they’d rolled Michael’s body through the morgue doors, felt the cold blast of air hit his face.

 

He knows, only because someone told him later, that it was Michael’s brother who found him standing in the basement hallway staring dead ahead, lost to time and space. Who took his hand and led him out the hospital doors, drove him home.

 

He knows what shock feels like. He looks at Victoria, his vibrant, vivacious, force of a friend, and knows at least an approximation of what she’s experiencing in this moment. Knows it’s about to get a hell of a lot worse before it’ll start getting better. Knows that her ‘better’ from now on will be a pale comparison to before. Knows the stabbing ache she’ll feel every day for the rest of her life. His heart breaks for her – a widow who never got to be a wife.  

 

He takes her hand again, squeezes it. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

 

She nods, and he knows she heard him, but her eyes are far away, lost in a way they’ll be for a while.

 

His phone buzzes with a text that Dean is back with his car, ready to drive her home. When he pulls up, Travis opens the backdoor and nudges her inside. She stares blindly ahead while he leans in and fastens her seatbelt.

 

It’s a short, quiet drive to her place. Dean, who understands better than most the value of silence and personal space, waits patiently, the car idling, as Travis rifles through her bag for her keys. Travis nods a goodbye to Dean, then takes her hand again and leads her up the front walk.

 

He watches as she looks around her own living room like she’s never seen it before and doesn’t understand how she got there. He places a gentle hand on her back and guides her over to the couch. “Sit here a minute,” he says, his tone hushed and gentle.

 

She nods and sits down, and Travis kneels in front of her, eases off her boots, setting them aside. He gives her leg a squeeze in an attempt to draw her attention. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

 

She makes a non-committal sound in the back of her throat in acknowledgement. He goes to her kitchen and braces himself against her counter, closing his eyes and giving himself to the count of five to breathe and regroup. ‘I’m gonna need some guidance here, babe,’ he whispers, and he can’t help but wonder if Victoria will find herself talking to Lucas like he still does to Michael.

 

He looks around her kitchen, notices the time on the microwave – just after 8pm. He’s been with her all day, more or less, so he knows that neither of them had lunch or dinner. He suspects, given the situation at the diner this morning, that it’s likely she missed breakfast too. He takes a banana from the bowl on her table, then pours her a glass of water. It’s not much but he knows he’ll be lucky to get this much into her.

 

He takes another deep breath then goes back into the living room, where she’s still exactly as she was when he left her. He kneels in front of her again – his only hope of getting anything close to eye contact right now – and puts the water glass in her hand.

 

“Take a sip,” he says gently. He watches as she slowly raises the glass to her lips and uses that time to peel open the banana. He takes the glass from her and replaces it with the banana. “Here, have a bite.”

 

She stares straight ahead and blinks in confusion. He covers her hand with his and raises it up for her. “Eat, Vic,” he urges and realizes his heart is pounding as he waits for her to acquiesce.  

 

“Good girl,” he soothes when she takes a bite. In any other situation, he thinks, that would probably be the most condescending thing he could possibly say to her and he imagines briefly her fiery reaction. Here now, though, she doesn’t even acknowledge she heard him, just chews and has another bite at his urging.

 

It takes more than ten minutes, but she manages to eat the entire banana and drink all the water, all the while staring past him to a spot just to his right. He’s about to suggest she lie down when she furrows her brow and opens her mouth to speak. He watches patiently as she struggles to find words.

 

“I feel…” she starts, her voice weak, “floaty.”

 

“Mm,” he hums, remembering. “Like those pears my mom used to put in green Jello.”

 

“That’s… specific. But yes.”

 

“That’s normal,” he says, putting a hand on her knee, a grounding touch. “You’re in shock, Vic.”

 

“It’s kinda nice.”

 

“How about you lie down for a minute?” From the grip he has on her hand, he can feel her pulse racing. Her breathing is shallow and he’s a bit worried she’ll pass out.

 

“Here,” he says, patting the pillow beside her, and she eases herself down onto her side. She blinks up at him, waiting, then presses herself against the back of the couch, clearly making room for him. He takes his boots off and sets them beside hers, then takes off his uniform shirt, his belt, and watch.

 

He lays down facing her, brushes her hair back off her face, and strokes her cheek with his thumb. He’s tempted to lean in and press a comforting kiss to her forehead but his instincts tell him that’s a bridge too far. Instead, he puts his hand on the arm she has tucked under her cheek and sweeps his thumb soothingly over her wrist. Her mouth quirks and he knows that she knows he’s assessing her pulse again. She lets him, though, and for that he’s grateful. She’s unguarded now, the shock rendering her open and pliant in a way she rarely is.

 

Her eyes blink shut and her breathing slows, evening out. He can’t help but wonder if she’s really drifting off to sleep or if she’s just utilizing her training and calming herself. He stays still, save for his thumb stroking her wrist, and waits, silently pouring his love and strength over her. He doesn’t believe in a higher power, per se, but he believes in love and knows Vic needs every once he can spare right now.

 

“I was gonna ask you…” she starts, blinking her eyes open again but not meeting his. “Um, I was gonna ask you to stand up with me. Be my best person. If he said yes.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Mm,” she nods. “Hawaii, maybe. Or Colorado. He has a thing for snowsuits.” She smiles a little as she says it, then shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “Had. You’ll still be my best person, right?” Her voice cracks and tears glide down her face.

 

His eyes fill with tears as he says, “I promise to try and be the best person for you. And I promise to stand up right beside you, okay? I’m right here with you.”

 

She nods and smiles weakly, meeting his eye. “Thank you.”

 

He just nods.

 

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

“I don’t… I can’t sleep in my bed.”

 

“Okay. The guest room, then. Or right here is fine.” He’ll tell her later, maybe, that it was more than six months until he could sleep in his bed again, that he’d spent most nights curled up in Michael’s hideous recliner.

 

“Okay,” she says, sighing. She fists a hand in the front of his t-shirt, pulling him just a little closer. A moment of realization flashes across her face and she smiles sadly as she looks up into his eyes and says, “I get it now. I told you… I… I couldn’t speak to it then. But I guess I can now.”

 

“I wish you couldn’t, Vic. With all my heart.” He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a steadying breath. This isn’t a pain he’d wish on the most vile human on Earth and here she is, his favorite person, and there’s not a damn thing he can do to save her from this.

 

“Will you tell me about him? Tell me about Michael?”

 

“Yeah?” he asks, and can’t help his crooked smile.

 

She nods.

 

“Oh my god, Vic, that man had the worst morning breath of anyone I’ve ever known.”

 

She snorts a laugh – a real laugh – and he launches in to the story of the first night they spent together. How Michael’s shift had been long and intense. How the waiter had been so rude they left before getting their meals. How the movie had been sold out by the time they got to the theater. How they’d gone back to Travis’s place and ordered a pizza and watched a Mariners game holding hands on his couch.

 

He tells her about Michael falling asleep on his shoulder somewhere in the fourth inning, how he’d drooled on him, and how Travis instantly knew he was in trouble because he found it kind of sweet instead of disgusting. He tells her how he’d coaxed him up off the couch and into bed, how Michael had rolled towards him and fallen instantly back to sleep with his head on Travis’s chest.

 

He talks and talks until her grip on his shirt loosens and the tension on her face eases and he knows she’s asleep. Then he keeps talking because he’s finally at a place where memories of Michael bring him joy and comfort instead of emptiness and pain.

 

She’ll get to that place too, he knows. In time, and with the support of everyone who loves her. It’s going to get worse before it gets better, but he made her a promise he intends to keep, that he’ll stand up with her, be her best person, be right here beside her every step of the way.


End file.
